


and tell me that you always hear my cries

by capricornia



Category: Henry IV - Shakespeare, Richard II - Shakespeare, SHAKESPEARE William - Works
Genre: Christianity References, F/M, M/M, Mentions of drugs, i don't really know anything about christianity or drugs, i wrote this instead of doing my math homework, oopsies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 15:04:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9613064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capricornia/pseuds/capricornia
Summary: They all have their sacrilegious things, but Ned knows he’s the worst offender, never mind that Hal’s friend Falstaff has literally cussed out the Trinity while standing at the altar--because while everyone is busy thinking (or trying to think) holy thoughts during service on Sundays, Ned prays to Richard.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Most of my knowledge of Christianity is from juvenile fiction, so if there are any things about this that are wrong, 1) I'm sorry, and 2) please let me know so I can fix them.
> 
> This is set sort of modern-day, I guess? It's not, y'know, 14th-Century England. Unless they did cocaine in 14th-Century England. Who am I to judge?
> 
> Anyway I'm gonna go to shul this week,,,
> 
> (Title from "Losing Touch" by the Killers - the most Richard II song ever)

They all have their sacrilegious things--Richard’s sucked Ned off behind the altar while telling him Jesus was probably gay; Ned has personally witnessed at least two fistfights Henry was involved in; he _knows_ Hal and that layabout Poins regularly do lines of coke in the confessionals; and one time, he and Richard caught Harry Percy and Hal necking in the supply room (Ned remembers it vividly, and the image seems to be permanently etched into his brain: Hal with his head back, neck bared, Percy with his hand closing around Hal’s throat, fingers digging into Hal’s trachea, both of them clearly drunk and Hal wearing Poins’s shirt with what appear to be bullet holes in places). But Ned--Ned knows he’s the worst offender, never mind that Hal’s strange friend Falstaff has literally cussed out the Trinity while standing at the altar--because while everyone is busy thinking (or trying to think) holy thoughts during service on Sundays, Ned prays to Richard.

It’s been that way since he was a child. When he thinks of God, he pictures Richard, with his long, reddish hair and his sloping nose, his regal carriage and his piercing, warm eyes. When Ned thinks of the word of Jesus he thinks it in Richard’s musical stutter. He thinks Richard knows. After all, one can only cry _God_ so many times during sex.

The problem, Ned reflects, is that Richard has this habit of dressing like Jesus. Or maybe every painter also has the visage of Richard in their minds when they painted Jesus. The problem is--Richard just can’t dress like a normal person, is the problem. Ned wears shirtsleeves, Henry wears those grey ill-fitting suits, Hal alternates between ratty t-shirts that he probably stole from Poins and tuxedoes--there seems to be no in-between--but Richard dresses like he’s just come straight out of a Renaissance painting. It’s horribly distracting, and it makes Ned want to simultaneously push Richard down and lie there on the floor on top of him, chest-to-chest, and to drop down to his knees and confess his sins. It’s very confusing, and not at all a good image to have in one’s head when one is trying to focus on _church_.

In addition to all this, Ned thinks, in spite of himself, in spite of the chorus singing praises to the heavens, Richard has this infuriating habit of _walking around in bare feet_. It bothers Henry, of course--though, Ned privately thinks, what _doesn’t_ bother Henry?--but it bothers Ned more, he’s sure. Henry just gets annoyed by it, and starts telling Richard all about how he’ll get splinters and walk on glass and all kinds of horrific accidents could happen to him. (Richard could probably walk on glass and not get cut, though, like some kind of modern-day landlocked Jesus.) Ned’s pretty sure, however, that Richard walking around the halls with his toes peeking out from his long, white nightgown (seriously? nightgown?) doesn’t make Henry want to bend over on himself and bring his face to the ground and begin kissing Richard’s feet. It’s such a filthy thing to want to do, and, honestly, it fills him with shame to think on it.

 _Stop thinking about it, Aumerle._ So he concentrates on the words of the choir, and comes full circle back to his lord and savior.

Ned thinks of marriage, of the words he’d watched Henry and Mary say all those years ago. _'Til death do us part_. A part of him died with the words, then when he knew there were a million reasons he and Richard will never get to say those words to each other. The rest of him thinks the feelings he has for Richard are more pure, more whole, than a lifetime of kisses and vows _until death_. Despite the hisses of _he’s your cousin_ from Harry Percy, the quiet looks of disgust from Henry, loving Richard is the one part of him that will probably never change, not through torture, not through death. _God help me_ , he thinks, and pictures the proud tilt of Richard’s chin.

And Richard--from across the room, Richard catches his eye and winks.


End file.
